


casual casualty

by Misty_Reeyus



Category: Tales of Berseria
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 01:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14581665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misty_Reeyus/pseuds/Misty_Reeyus
Summary: “What, don’t tell meyouwanted to be the one to fight him.”





	casual casualty

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: [rokunor - “Are you mad at me?”]

“Are you mad at me?”

Rokurou feels compelled to ask, because even though Eleanor is knelt beside him in the grass and casting healing magic on his wounded shoulder, her eyebrows are furrowed in distaste and her lips are curled in a slight scowl. At his words, though, she blinks up at him, and her expression instantly softens before she lets out a sigh.

“Not at you,” she says, and returns focus to her task. The injury isn’t too serious so she quickly finishes treating it, then shifts on her knees so as to look across the field. Rokurou stretches out his newly mended shoulder and follows her gaze to where his last opponent now lies bleeding out on the ground, surrounded by his panicked buddies.

Eleanor’s frown deepens slightly as she stares at them, so Rokurou, aiming to cheer her up, gently nudges her in the side with his elbow. “What,” he teases lightly, “don’t tell me _you_ wanted to be the one to fight him.”

“It may have briefly crossed my mind,” she replies, her tone even, her expression still somewhat sour. “But I doubt he would have entertained the notion. He seemed pretty set on the idea of me being some sort of prize that he could win.”

Rokurou can’t help but roll his eyes in annoyed agreement. Eleanor has always had her fair share of admirers, something they’ve both become accustomed to by now, but that man was by far the most presumptuous one yet. A born noble, judging by the fancy clothes and heirloom sword, and popular within his social circle, judging by the clique of similarly uppity friends that backed him up when he approached Eleanor with a proposal. Eleanor politely but firmly rebuffed him, though, and he got so worked up that he took his anger out on the nearby Rokurou, even going so far as to challenge him to “a duel for the beloved Shepherd’s hand.”

Rokurou normally wouldn’t have thought such a bout to be worth his time—the nobleman showed no reaction when Rokurou pulled back his hair to reveal his daemon eye, so his level of resonance had to be pretty low—but the guy was just so stubbornly insistent about it that Rokurou figured hey, might as well humor him.

So Rokurou took a nick to the shoulder, the nobleman took eight or nine slashes to various parts of the body, and that’s how they all got where they are now.

“Yeah, well,” Rokurou drawls, “that’s exactly why I had to be the one to fight him. Dumb idiots are best dealt with by other dumb idiots, after all.”

At that, Eleanor finally cracks a small smile. Rokurou chooses to take that as a success.

“Hey, hang in there!” A loud shriek rings out from the chaotic pile of noblemen. “Someone find a doctor! Medic! Healer! _Anything_!”

Eleanor puts her hand to her chest, her expression now somewhat concerned as she watches the fancy friends cry and scream and run around like headless chickens. “Is…is that guy really going to be okay?”

“Eh, he’ll live.” Sure, Rokurou sliced him up a bit, but it’s nothing some spells and gels can’t fix. “I made sure not to hit any vitals.”

“You held back,” Eleanor notes, raising a single eyebrow. “That’s not like you.”

Rokurou shrugs. “I figured you wouldn’t want him to die over this.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. Thank you.”

“No prob.” Rokurou shoots a light grin her way before glancing back over to the hullabaloo. “But aren’t you gonna go over and try to sort those guys straight? If you don’t clear the air, they might go around badmouthing us after this. Not great PR for the Shepherd.”

Eleanor scoffs. “Oh, let them talk. And let the people who listen to them believe what they want. No matter what they think, it’s not going to stop this Shepherd from doing what she wants.” She puts a hand on his shoulder, her smile turning sly. “And who she wants.”

Rokurou gapes in mock-surprise. “Do my ears deceive me, or was that a dirty joke I just heard?” The corners of his mouth creep up into a smirk as he sets his hand atop her thigh, inches towards her skirt.

Eleanor slaps him away. “Behave,” she chides, but it isn’t all that convincing when she’s very clearly holding back giggles. “At least until we get back to our room.”

“Well, then.” Rokurou levels Eleanor with a wink, then eagerly jumps back up onto his feet. “Let’s hurry.”

Grabbing her hand, he pulls her along in a straight dash for the inn—and Eleanor laughs the whole way back.


End file.
